


Profound Relief

by amireal, tiamatv



Series: Profound [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romantic Fluff, Soft Boys, Timestamp, Topping from the Bottom, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29814711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/pseuds/amireal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv
Summary: Just two guys at the end of a very long journey, finally getting a moment to themselves.(A Profoundly Different Timestamp. Takes place directly after Ch 16 and probably won't make the most sense without reading the main fic in this universe.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Profound [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191587
Comments: 17
Kudos: 78





	Profound Relief

**Author's Note:**

> **Ami:** Y'all are thirsty. I mean really. Here we are, trying to write a big old romantic FU to canon and it's all "OOOH I bet the porn after this is gonna be awe--"
> 
> AHAHHA SORRY. We're just as bad. This took 2 days to write. Seriously.

Dean feels good for a while. Strike that: he feels fucking _fantastic_. 

He's happy and laughing as he and Cas walk from the shed to the main house, their elbows bumping and pressing from how close they’re walking. Dinner is one of the best meals he can remember in a long time, even with the blade of detox hanging over Sam's head. The food tastes better than he remembers (even though Bobby made it). The company feels softer and more comfortable, and even Bobby's slightly under-lit living space feels brighter and clearer.

Actually, Dean feels kind of high. Maybe a natural one that doesn't stress his blood pressure or force his heart to beat three times faster than it wants to. It's a good feeling, the first really purely good feeling he's felt since that night in the park. Possibly even longer than that.

Everything is great, a little soft around the edges even though Dean's only had one beer. When he stops to think about it in the occasional lulls in conversation, it's a little disconcerting for him to be this happy all on his own, but he's gonna grab onto that and hold on with both hands till that train jumps the tracks. Because, goddamnit, this might be the best moment in his entire life. 

Next to him, Cas smiles gently at him whenever he gets the chance. He hasn't drifted more than a few feet away since he woke up, and has found some way to keep touching Dean in one manner or another through the whole dinner—a hand on his thigh, their elbows brushing. About halfway through, they just give up, and Cas scoots his chair a little closer. 

Life is good.

The first moment the good feeling flickers is when Dean heads off to piss. When he looks at himself in the mirror, washing his hands, he sees what everyone else must have seen over the past few days: the way his face is grey around the edges, and the lines have worn themselves into the corners of his eyes. The emptiness that he thought was gone starts to worm itself up his gut again.

Still, the shaky breath he takes in the bathroom, hands on the sink, bent over and feeling a little sick, is what gets them their second shared shower. He doesn’t know how Cas realized what was happening, but he feels the gentle pressure of a hand on a small of his back, lips resting against his shoulder. Dean doesn’t even have the energy to grumble at him for following him into the damned bathroom.

They both need a shower, neither of them have cleaned off for something like three days, and somewhere in the middle there was the most intense and gross fistfight in the history of everything. Dean might still have tiny bits of exploded Lilith on him.

(Also, Dean eventually wants 'I'm so fucking happy we're alive' sex, and he does have _some_ manners.) 

Cas smiles at him, silent, water beading on his eyelashes. Honestly, Dean's rarely shared a shower with someone once; twice is weird, especially since it's less raunchy than Dean's been imagining. Or maybe hoping for, since that first one was about anything but sex, too. Still, just being close to Cas inside a warm and relaxing cocoon of water and soap and steam, is so, so perfect. He laughs, softly, and bends down to put a kiss on the tip of Cas’s wet nose.

(He doesn't even sneak a peek. Yeah, Dean can be good. When it suits him to.)

But Cas is the one who drapes a towel over his head and gently scruffles his hair dry, dabbing a corner of it at Dean's neck and shoulders with very careful deliberation, like it's the most important job in the world. Dean smiles at him from under the wrapper of terrycloth, and Cas smiles back.

"The wards are down," he whispers, and even with as echoey as the bathroom is, Dean still has to lean close to hear him. Or maybe he doesn't have to lean in, he just wants to. "It's very nice."

Huh. Maybe that’s part of why Dean feels so light; he remembers the way everything about Bobby’s house felt a little gloomier, before. He pulls another towel absently towards himself and wraps it around Cas's back, toweling off the water on him, too. He knows the water's cooling on his own skin, but with whatever-it-is humming between them, Dean doesn't feel cold anymore. Maybe he won't ever again.

Wouldn't that be something?

He leans in and nuzzles away a droplet that's making its way down Cas's temple from his flattened-down and still-wet hair. "Yeah," he agrees, in the same whisper. "It is."

As much as Dean would love nothing more than to spend the next eternity tracing off every single droplet he can find, he slowly pulls away to put just a few inches of cooling air between them. Bobbly _will_ know if they get down and dirty in what's technically a public bathroom and he _will_ make their lives hell for it.

(For just a second, Dean considers whether or not it might be worth it—but hell, if they’re not even going to have shower sex, fooling around on the bathroom floor is just ridiculous even for them.)

They make it back to their bedroom, though Dean doesn't really remember the journey. It's all Cas's small, sly smile back at him; it’s Cas's unmarked, unscarred skin, and the way the muscles playing along Cas's back are the most gorgeous thing Dean's ever seen. He needs to plan some time to spend examining every square inch of that back. Why hasn’t he done it before?

Once they get into the room, that’s when the kissing starts—good move, waiting until they’re behind a closed door, because Dean doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to stop. There's soft little playful pecks and long languid things that seem to say more words than Dean can ever seem to manage all on his own, and everything in between. Cas smiles into Dean’s mouth, and their hands tangle as they brush past each other to touch their fill. Dean definitely feels drunk now, but it's on soft skin and softer kisses, Cas's sparkling eyes and low, tiny laughs of happiness.

Dean thinks this might be what joy is.

They find the bed, eventually, though Dean’s not quite sure how they made it from the wall to the mattress any more than he knows how they made it back to the room in the first place. Dean sits down hard with a startled laugh, but then Cas is crawling on top of him, beaming down at him. Big hands cup Dean’s cheeks, thumbs resting softly at the edges of Dean's lips, and all Dean can think is he almost never had this again.

They managed to get just enough clothing on in the bathroom to make some pretense at not flashing the world before they made it to their bedroom... fuck. It really is their bedroom, isn't it? It's the same bedroom where Dean nearly brained himself over a USPS box and they both laughed at how dumb it is to trip over clothes—where he pushed Cas down onto his back onto the mattress, and just looking down at him like that, wearing nothing but a white button-down draped loose and open over his shoulders, almost exploded Dean’s brain with how hot he was. This is where Cas put him down onto his stomach, fingered and fucked him in pretty much every way except actually being _inside_ him.

They've had a lot of firsts in this room. Nothing's ever hurt, here. This was their space. They never said goodbye, here.

Cas's hands are large and rough with calluses at the tips, at spots on the palm—they're not soft teacher hands, if they ever were, but why did Dean never notice that before? He feels like he should have noticed that. He feels like he should have noticed all of it: the way Cas's dimples are just a little off-center as he smiles down at Dean, the way he settles his weight on Dean's lap.

What would have happened if Dean hadn't gotten this back? Would he have just forgotten? Or would he just never have known?

But that doesn't matter. He did get it back. He reaches up to set a hand into Cas's wet hair—still chilly and damp; Dean smiles into the kiss when he draws Cas down.

Shower-moist skin against soft cotton is a sensation Dean never appreciated with another person before. Cas is just in boxers under soft pants (borrowed from Dean) and Dean's in boxers and a t-shirt. It's all sensations that add up to something that nearly shorts out Dean’s brain. Dean's hands slide from Cas's hair down his shoulders and sides until he can pull Cas closer. He wants Cas close, so close. He never wants to feel that separation again.

Cas melts into him, filling in all the empty spots, and curves around the sharp edges. Dean only hopes he’s returning the favor. Cas seems content to stay just where they are, kissing and touching slowly and tenderly. 

Honestly, Dean's pretty okay with that. He's already kind of hard and he can feel Cas against him, warm and a little needy through a couple of layers of fabric. But all of that’s secondary to the need to just exist inside Cas's orbit.

Cas gently pushes him down so that Dean’s back is resting against the mattress, but his legs are bent, feet still on the floor. Gravity does great things to them with the way Cas is still straddling his thighs, pressing Cas down on top of him, nestling them together in ways that Dean really likes.

It's all so soft and warm and close that Dean gasps out a " _Fuck_ " and his hips jerk upwards when Cas bites down, hard, right where Dean's neck meets his shoulder. It's not even on his sensitive side, but just that touch of sharpness makes Dean's toes curl against the floor. Cas smiles (Dean can feel the curve of his lips against his skin) and mumbles, "Hmmm. Interesting."

"Don't be smug," Dean mutters, half a laugh, half-complaining. "You know what you do to me."

But his hand tightens just gently in Cas's hair, holding him against the spot, and his other hand tucks up against the small of Cas's bare back, keeping him from going anywhere. Nope. Cas is going nowhere at all.

Cas, for his part, doesn't seem to mind at all. He just licks at the patch of skin and then puffs on it, gently, and Dean shivers all the way to his cock. It's the combination between breath and heat and chill, a weird—but hot—sensation. Cas laughs into it and blows again.

"You're a menace," Dean sighs, pulling Cas's body down against his in a slow rock of hips. It's still weird to Dean how easily he can move Cas, because he knows how impenetrable and marble-like he can be. Hell, Cas has held him up against a wall like it was nothing. Dean gets this soft, pliable Cas and it's a gift Dean never wants to take for granted.

"Your menace," Cas murmurs, like he’s hearing Dean’s thoughts. "Only ever yours. Nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum."

Dean's breath hitches. It's so much. Also, he… understood that: now, and ever shall be, world without end. That makes not a lot of sense, because Dean’s Latin just isn’t that good. But with the way Cas is saying it, smiling down at him, Dean knows it’s a prayer. Maybe he’s heard it before in some church.

"Cas." His voice cracks. "I- I- want." His lungs tighten and he can't finish, which is fine because he's not sure how to finish.

"So do I," Cas says. Maybe he's misunderstanding what Dean’s saying. But maybe he isn't. "I want everything." 

He leans back just enough to run his thumb down Dean's nose, the soft patch underneath, catching on the swell of his bottom lip. Those full lips turn up into a crooked little smile as Cas’s thumb follows its way down Dean's throat, catching for a moment in the hollow of his collarbone. He pauses there. "Oh, no,” Cas sighs, mournfully. “Are we wearing too many clothes again?" His fingers sneak, sly and ticklish, underneath the neckline of Dean's shirt.

The little quiver of laughter at the back of Cas's deep voice gives Dean room to exhale again. "You mean, like always?" Dean retorts, grinning up at him.

"You naked is entirely too enticing," Cas answers, very solemn. "You should come with a warning label."

Dean arches an eyebrow. "Oh, don't you even start,” he complains. “Pretty sure I've already got one stamped on my ass. Or so everyone tells me."

Cas's laugh at that is one of the best things Dean's ever heard.

The laugh also lightens Dean's lungs just enough to make breathing easier again. "Been wondering if I could return the favor, though." He runs a hand along the angled hipbones peeking out from under Cas's pants and boxers. "Maybe right here? A little ink would look really hot." He rubs the area slowly with his thumb, and licks his lips. "Think my name would look pretty in Enochian?"

Cas smiles and curls his hand over where Dean's fingers are pressing against his skin. "I think your name would look pretty in pig-Latin." He picks Dean's hand up carefully and laces their fingers together. "You're already written all over me, though. Right down to my component atoms. I’m sure everyone can see it."

That chokes Dean right up all over again.

Cas just bends back down and kisses him softly through it, and Dean does what he can to just hold on this and not think about how lucky they got—how lucky Dean got. Even here, with Cas’s chest warm atop his through Dean’s thin t-shirt, he's suddenly having a tough time again believing he gets this. He still expects to wake up in the back of the Impala, Cas's body wrapped in a tarp in the trunk, Dean's life all-but-over.

He struggles to pull out of that image.

That's not now, though. That's not here. Cas is _here_ , and Dean's not dreaming. He's lived such a fucked-up life, but even he can't imagine a nightmare where he cut down the trees for Cas’s pyre and had to prepare his body for it. He sure as hell can’t imagine letting himself dream that something went right after that. Yeah?

He leans up into the kiss, propping his elbow underneath him to get better leverage as his tongue slips roughly into Cas's mouth, but Cas makes a low, rumbly sound of appreciation. Accidentally (or at least Dean thinks so) Cas shifts further forward against him, and grinds down, cloth sliding in a rasp against cloth, not quite enough pressure. It reminds him of the few times they enjoyed Baby's back seat, laughing and fumbling because they were always wearing too goddamned much by the time they got into there and couldn't get any _skin._

It reminds him of the way he carefully pulled apart the lapels of Cas's scraped-up, torn, dirty trench coat, the cloth of it swishing against a bloodied button-down.

Dean yanks back out of the kiss with a gasp and falls back down to the bed, his blood running sluggish and cold

Cas peeks down at him, lips still parted. Flushed. His bottom lip is plumped up with Dean's teeth, his face is still nearly clean-shaven from their date nearly three days ago even though it _was_ nearly three days ago. He's unhurt, so damned familiar and so damned beautiful Dean wants to freeze the sight of him, right here, right now.

"Dean?" he asks, in a soft gravel, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean mutters, and dredges up a smile. What the hell’s he doing? "Shit, no, sweetheart, nothing. Just looking at you, that's all."

Cas's head tilts. He doesn't directly call Dean a liar, but he probably knows something's not quite right. He always knows. Dean has learned to take comfort in the idea that Cas doesn't need his words most of the time. He doesn't force Dean to say everything that maybe should be said, just the things that absolutely need to be said.

But the way Cas is looking at him now makes Dean feel more than a little naked—and maybe not exactly in the good way.

"Dean," Cas murmurs, quietly. "It's okay. I'm okay. You're okay. Sam will be okay. You can stop, for now. You can experience it."

Dean's chest hitches again and there's something huge and choking working its way up his throat. "I—what? Experience what?"

Cas kisses his forehead softly. "Whatever you need to."

Dean is a goddamned master of keeping this shit down, okay? He's spent his life doing it. There's nothing to fucking experience. He just needs to get past it.

So he gets his grin wider and swallows whatever's trying to choke him. "Then you need to be getting this shirt off me before I rip it off." He feels his smile turning a bit. "It's, uh, kind of stuck under me."

Cas's smile down at him is gentle, but he doesn't argue. Dean also can't argue with Cas sliding off his lap and down to stand on the floor again, even though it means Dean has to prop up on his elbows to watch him, because... he can't have him disappearing from sight again. He just... yeah, no.

But Cas's fingers ease gently under the edge of Dean's shirt, helping untuck it from where it got snagged under his weight... well, that's warm and nice, a little tickly. The knot in Dean's chest unwinds a little.

He ends up getting kissed all over. Cas spends long seconds going from muscle to muscle, even in the spots that Dean natural fitness doesn't translate to specific muscle definition. For Cas it doesn't seem to matter: it’s like he knows where each bit of Dean's body begins and ends, and he unerringly, softly, says hello to each one. When it's Dean's turn, he'll just have to do it the old-fashioned way, relying on the mesmerizing dips and curves of Cas's alarmingly tempting stomach and hips. Maybe spend a little more time biting those hipbones...

"You covered that bit already?" Dean slurs slightly as Cas returns to his lower stomach area—maybe a little bit more to the right, this time?

"That was your rectus abdominis muscles, I'm going for your psoas now," Cas murmurs. His fingers press down and weirdly inward, away from Dean’s hipbones. It's hot and bizarrely relaxing at the same time. Dean wasn’t even aware of the slight ache before Cas just soothed it out.

"Hey." Dean flails at Cas’s shoulder, grabs hold, and pulls him up. "This is sexy time, not relax-me-into-a-puddle-and-sleep time."

Cas blinks innocently. "I was aiming for both. I admit, I had my preferences as to the order, but I can be open-minded about it..."

Dean snorts, but he's so relaxed he just lifts his hips when Cas's fingers stray downwards and into his boxers, feeling them get peeled away and off his feet. He just sighs and lets his feet dangle to the floor again... even though it kind of tickles when Cas kisses his bruised-up, scarred knees.

They tingle, and the ache is gone. 

Dean cracks open an eye. "Cas," he murmurs. Not a few hours ago Cas couldn't even sit up by himself, he sure as hell shouldn't be healing Dean's little bumps. Actually... Dean peers suspiciously down at the gash on his side. That's gone, too.

"It's worth it," Cas answers, firmly. "It always will be."

Dean’s all of a sudden right there again, a few hours ago: a wet rag in his hand, looking down at a cold, inert body lying on a machining table, Cas's face slack and bloodied.

Saving the world hadn't felt worth it then. Nothing had felt worth it. 

Dean’s back in the bedroom, staring at the cracked ceiling, but his chest tightens like a vice, and a cold sweat breaks out over his entire body. He should say something, but he doesn’t know how; his throat pulses and swells painfully shut, holding back all of the things that threaten to spill out of him.

"Dean?" Cas is leaning over him, back in his eye-line, alive and breathing and full of color. His baby blues are wide and worried. "I'm here, Dean. I'm here."

Dean gasps for air. He can't— he can't. 

Cas's arms wind around him and pull Dean close and upright, tucking his head under Cas's chin. He smells clean and warm, a little spicy. He feels a _alive_. "It's okay, Dean," he murmurs. 

It's not okay. It's the last goddamned thing from okay, what is Dean even doing? He should be rolling Cas under him and licking him back until his voice breaks. He should be—

But all of a sudden he's not dangling all naked and sexy off the end of the bed, he's twisted up on his side in the center of it. His head is resting on the firm muscle of Cas's thigh, still wrapped up in his pants. His chest hurts, his whole freaking face hurts, and he feels like he can't get enough air.

He's fucking _sobbing_ like he's pretty sure he never has in his entire adult life.

Or ever. Maybe not ever.

But Cas is curled over him, hands brushing everywhere. One hand is in Dean's hair, scraping just barely deeply enough that his nails tickle over Dean's scalp. The other is stroking over his back, his shoulders, his nape. He's warm and dense and alive, and he's murmuring, "Shhh, I love you, I love you," like he knows just what Dean needs to hear. 

It's not meant to shut him up. It's not meant to stop him crying, even though Dean really, really, goddamned _really_ wants to stop crying. It's just... it's probably just to say it, because these are the times where Cas really knows what to say.

It doesn't last long, but it goes on forever, Dean's entire body shaking with it, with grief and sadness and the unfairness of the universe. But through it, Cas never lets him go: he makes sure Dean knows he's there the whole time, with his voice and hands, the way his body is solid and real under Dean's hands and face.

Eventually, sometime between when the wrenching sobs stop but before Dean’s breathing gets back to anything near normal, Cas moves them around again. They're both laying down, Cas's arms wrapping firmly around Dean. They’re overlapping again, Cas lying mostly on top of him, Dean’s head once again tucked under Cas's chin. It feels warm and safe there, despite the fact that Dean’s still naked.

"I'm here, Dean and it's real, I promise, this is all real," Cas murmurs into his hairline. He presses a kiss between Dean’s eyebrows. "It's okay, Dean. I love you, and I'm here."

Dean's just been told someone loves him more in the last few minutes than he has in his entire lifetime, and it's not helping the strange feeling that the reality they’re in isn't the one Dean belongs to. 

But it's getting easier to accept as the seconds go on. After all, no djinn Dean's ever heard of lets anyone be this weirdly miserable.

After long enough that Dean realizes that he wants to stay here forever, pinned under Cas's solid weight, he struggles his face out from the line of Cas's neck. He can only imagine what he looks like. Actually, shit, Dean doesn't want to imagine what he looks like. The wet patch on Cas's shoulder tells _that_ story loud and clear.

"I'm a mess," Dean mutters, and tries to squirm out from under Cas to... to... he's not even sure, because he doesn't want to let go, and he doesn't actually want to move from where he is. He feels Cas smile as much as he sees it, because Dean's having a hard time looking him in the eyes right now. 

"A little," Cas agrees, with a quiet chuckle, and... it's bizarre how much that makes Dean feel better, rather than worse. "But you're still the most marvelous thing I've ever seen, on this earth or otherwise." He leans down and nuzzles right beside Dean's ear. "'Your lips are like a scarlet thread,'" he whispers, "'and your mouth is beautiful.'" 

Okay, _that_ makes Dean struggle. "You can't say shit like that, man," he complains, ignoring the fact that he feels so... light, all of a sudden. They’re sure as hell not going to mention the fact that Dean was bawling a second ago.

Cas's arms don't loosen. "You can’t stop me from thinking it, whether or not I say it," he murmurs, his smile sweet. "Do you truly want me to release you?"

Dean knows he must be feeling better, because he can't help but let out a dirty little laugh at the word 'release'. Cas's smile widens a little sheepishly, and the rumble of his laugh overlaps it. Together, they both relax just a little. Cas's arms are still solid around him but there's a release of tension that converts the hold into something a little softer.

"Release sounds nice," Dean says casually, moving a leg to pull Cas's hips a bit further into his orbit. “I could go for some of that.”

Cas smirks and the worst of the mess from Dean's crying jag disappears from his shoulder. Dean's face feels dry and cool again, and he hopes to God the snot’s gone. He’s pretty sure there was nothing at all fucking beautiful about that crying. "You have a remarkably one-track mind," Cas notes.

Dean snorts. "Considering how often you try to get your hand on my shoulder, I'm pretty sure that's the pot calling the kettle black."

Cas sniffs and tries to look offended. (Fails. Miserably. The twinkle in those damned blue, blue eyes'll give him away every time.) "That's _different_ ," he murmurs, and wriggles a little on top of Dean.

Dean's eyes are too busy crossing for a second to come up with a snappy retort. Neither of them is hard anymore, which is no shocker all things considered, but the press and scrape of those delicate sharp hipbones of Cas's against Dean's groin is... okay, there's something special there.

"Yeah, how?" he grumbles, but he settles a hand on Cas's back and starts it creeping downwards, towards that fucking fantastic ass of his. Just to pet. Even though it is all covered-up; isn’t that a crime?

Cas gives him a snooty look down the bridge of his nose. "That's just... reinforcing a spiritual connection,” he huffs. “That it happens to feel good is very incidental."

Dean brushes his thumb at the very top of Cas's butt cheek, and follows it across to the other side, thumbing the flat ridge of Cas's tailbone through his sweatpants and boxers. "Uh-huh," he drawls. If he doesn’t sound convinced, it’s ‘cause he _isn’t_.

Cas nods, earnestly, leaning in to trace the line of Dean's chin with his nose. "I cherish our connection, I would never want it to flounder." He sounds as far from innocent as possible, and his nose finishes its arc, punctuated by a soft kiss. "It's very important to me."

Dean tilts his head to give Cas more room all while slowly rubbing at the firm muscles under his thumb. Cas's ass feels amazing, no matter how he's touching it and he can feel Cas's legs spreading just slightly around him at the pressure he uses. This time, when Dean flashes to something that happened only a few days ago, it's to the quiet, content sounds Cas made, that moment his finger first pressed inside Cas’s body.

Dean remembers the uncomplicated joy of giving Cas something he'd dreamed about his whole life, something Cas never thought he'd get. God, it was so easy, and all of it felt so good, even before Dean was inside him—Cas sprawled gasping on top of him with his face lit up with happiness, Dean’s fingers slipping carefully in and out of him. It's the kind of thing Dean thought only existed in novels and movies, but it happened to him, to _them_ , and the memory of it is precious to him.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want to make other memories, even if the idea that he’s going to have the opportunity to is still new and foreign.

"I dunno," Dean murmurs, his head tilting back as Cas starts mouthing at the side of his throat. "Seems to me the 'feeling good' part is pretty important, too." A little to his disappointment, he loses his grip on the firm, round muscles under his hand as Cas keeps moving downwards—down the midline of his neck, then tracing the arc of his collarbone.

Cas's smile arcs against bone and skin again. Feeling the curve of those lips tightening against him is becoming one of Dean's favorite things. "I certainly can't argue that touching it, stroking it, kissing it, feels..." Cas agrees; he's tracing down lower and lower, "...rather exquisite."

He's not even touching the handprint—for once, he's nowhere near it—so Dean has no explanation for why just talking about the thing is making his left arm tingle all the way to the tips of his fingers. Maybe it's because Cas is down at his breastbone now, placing little kisses down the bone like dropping warmth all the way down Dean's chest. He hasn't lifted away, so Dean's cock is starting to say hello right at the smooth, flat line of Cas’s chest.

"Exquisite, huh? I can do exquisite," Dean says. It almost comes out steady, with just the right twinge of cockiness, until Cas parts his lips and licks right where Dean’s sternum becomes his solar plexus. Fuck, that feels weird, but… nice. "But, uh... what do you want?"

Cas peeks up at him and smiles. "The answer to that is the same as the first time you asked it: I want you."

If Dean's breath was unsteady before, it's practically off the rails now. "Y-yeah," he stutters through a quick nip and lick at the top of his abs. "I sorta got that part."

Cas's face slides a little serious when he looks back up at Dean again. "Let me take care of you."

Dean's breath catches yet another time, because shouldn't the person who came back from the dead get the special treatment?

"Dean," Cas says before Dean can even get up a good head of steam about it. "You tended to me in the only way you knew how. In the end, it was exactly what I needed, and it brought me back to you. I would greatly appreciate it if you allowed me to return the favor, and let me take care of you."

Dean almost misses the slight smirk. Oh, Cas means it in every way possible. He definitely wants to care for Dean but… "Yeah, how come your version of ‘caretaking’ involves more orgasms than mine?"

Cas pauses, tilts his head curiously and shrugs. "I am a tactician."

"Said it before and I'll say it again... you are a freakin' menace, that's what you are," Dean mumbles. His hips jerk off the bed as Cas dips his tongue into Dean's bellybutton. It really, really tickles. "Hey!" he yelps.

He does love the feel of that smile.

Cas spends a good long while lavishing the soft spot just under Dean's belly button, long enough that Dean's holding his breath every time his cock bumps into Cas's chin or taps the line of that scruffy jaw. But Cas just drops one kiss on the head of it, like a playful hello, before continuing downwards, exploring lightly along the underside of it and keeping on going right down.

Dean should be frustrated by that, but he’s too distracted to feel needy. He's very sure no one has ever kissed their way down his balls before, not like this, and it should be more hilarious than it is hot. But then Cas has made his way down Dean’s thighs, and that gives Dean his first little nip of teeth, right where his leg joins his hip... okay, damn.

"Also," he manages, through gritted teeth, "you're a tease."

"The word you're looking for," Cas says, mouth muffled against Dean's inner thigh, lifting Dean’s leg up and outwards for better access, "is ‘thorough.’" He kisses the sensitive skin with a slow, sucking motion.

"No," Dean gasps, "No, I definitely meant ‘tease.’"

Cas just smiles slowly and continues on his journey. There's a tiny eternity that disappears into Cas's need to map out every single spot on Dean's body that makes Dean gasp. And there are a lot of them. Eventually, Cas gives him some relief, gently taking Dean’s aching dick into one hand and pumping a few slow times before smiling down at him. Dean has to swallow down a groan that might be relief, or might be the anticipation of more torture.

"You should take my pants off now," Cas tells him.

Since Dean's head feels like it's gotten glued to the bed behind him from how hard he's been arching, he's _sure_ that's meant as a taunt. But when he looks up, Cas's face is just as pink as Dean's own probably is. He licks his lips like they've gone dry—which seems impossible, since he's been using them everywhere on Dean from his neck all the way down to the insteps of Dean's _feet_.

Yeah, just the sight of Cas looking so discombobulated gives Dean new strength to push himself back up to a sitting position. He looks down at himself. "Hey, no marks?" Dean hears himself ask. It's weird how he feels just the tiniest bit disappointed by that.

"Not _yet_ ," Cas promises, smiling and sitting back on his heels. "Well, other than the ones you already have." His head tilts, and he looks genuinely curious. "Do you like them? Hickies?"

Dean honestly never really had much of an opinion on them before on himself, but he’s always enjoyed a little bite or a little suck, and he knows he likes looking at them on Cas. "I dunno." He reaches out for Cas's waistband. It hasn't missed his attention that Cas could pretty easily have taken them off himself, but Dean's never going to miss an opportunity to unwrap his present. "We should find out."

"I'll add it to the list," Cas agrees, a little breathlessly.

Dean flips them so that Cas is laying back on the bed, now, and Dean is leaning over him. Cas looks tolerantly amused and with those pink cheeks and wide eyes, pretty damned turned on. (Damn, that’s such a good look on him.) Dean peppers tiny kisses down his chest and abs, not having nearly the patience Cas had. 

But that's fine, Dean also has a list. He'll get to slowly strip Cas out of his clothes, kissing and licking inch by inch, sometime later. For now, he tugs the soft cotton of the pants and boxers down in one sharp motion until all that's left is Cas, naked and hard and waiting for him.

Dean has a moment where he knows that this fucking fantastic image waiting for him in their bed wasn't the one he ever imagined for himself before any and all of this, but the buzz of unreality goes away as quickly as it comes. Maybe he never imagined it because he never let himself. He's done wasting time on ‘should haves’ and ‘maybes,’ especially when what he has right here and right now is exactly what he _does_ want.

Cas stretches on the bed, pointing his toes, pushing his fingertips upwards until they just brush the headboard. It accentuates every lean little line, every hint of softness, the heavy male curves of bone and hair. Dean's mouth waters. He's got his eyes on Cas's erection, curved sweetly upwards towards his belly, and he's heading down in that direction with his lips already parted for a taste when Cas's hand lands gently on his shoulder.

His left shoulder.

Dean bows around it, around himself, around the blaze of heat and want and _yes_ that shudders through him. Only Dean’s fingers digging into the bedsheet keep him from just coming on the spot—that, and the knowledge that there's more than this, that they can have more than this.

But fuck, that really feels so, so good.

He knows he's being steered back to the bed—he topples onto it, really. It's not graceful, and Dean doesn't care. By the time Cas's fingers leave his shoulder and Dean finds himself lying on his back again with Cas straddling him, he's hanging onto control so hard he's surprised his nails haven't dug holes in the mattress.

"Like I told you..." Cas says, though he looks just as wrecked as Dean does by their moment of… completion, or whatever Cas calls it. "It's my turn to take care of you."

Dean takes a few deep, cleansing breaths just to keep himself from falling over the edge. When his focus returns to something outside his body, he sees Cas kneeling over him, back arched, one arm curved behind him. The muscles of his shoulder and bicep are working in a slow rhythm. There’s a bottle of lube tossed carelessly to the mattress beside Dean’s hip.

It takes Dean's futzed-out, hormone-riddled brain a few seconds to figure out exactly what Cas is doing and it’s possible he loses consciousness for a second when he does. 

Then his hand shoots out to join Cas's, curving over the sleek line of that fine, firm ass and dipping into his warm crack. His fingers trace the edges of Cas's rim, feeling where those long fingers are disappearing into himself.

"Holy fuck, warn a guy before you go and do something this hot," Dean mutters. Cas just smiles beatifically.

"But then it wouldn’t be a surprise," Cas tells him, but Dean almost doesn't hear it for the way his blood roars in his ears when Cas's back arches, muscle tensing deliciously against Dean's hands, Dean's... everything, really. The way Cas is sitting, his thighs are spread wide over Dean’s hips, his cock is bobbing just about a heartbeat over Dean's. Dean can't be the only one here whose brain is melting, that’s just not fair.

Besides, the look on Cas's face when Dean reaches down with his free hand and neatly wraps it around both of them, tucking their cocks together in his fist, makes it _perfect_. It's like they're doing all of this together.

"Dean," Cas says, in a shaky gasp, and it's probably supposed to sound like a scold. (It doesn't sound even remotely like a scold.)

Dean smirks. "Idle hands and all that." He pumps his hand slowly, watching Cas trying to glare at him and shiver in pleasure at the same time. For fun, he curls his fingers deeper into Cas’s crack, with another leisurely slide of his other hand up and down their cocks.

"I'm trying to do something here," Cas says without much heat. He's smiling, eyes sparkling, and that sex flush that Dean loves is spreading slowly over his body.

"Yeah? Don't let me stop you." Dean says casually, but he's still pressing his fingers against Cas's where he's slowly stretching himself open. It's unbelievably hot and he can't even see what Cas is doing.

Dean can see the bottle of lube over by his knee, where Cas must have dropped it, but right now, having it on his palms might be too much, a little too good. He can barely look at the sight of their cocks gathered in his fist, just barely moving his fingers enough to give them each a little play, because he just felt the first drip trickle off his cockhead and onto his belly. From the way Cas licks his lips, he saw it, too.

He's sure as hell not going to rush Cas—he remembers just how long it took to get him ready last time. But while Dean enjoyed every second of fingering him open, holy shit, watching Cas do it for himself, seeing him gasp and arch and the way his eyelashes flutter when he must get a good stroke, is about ten times sexier. With his hand where it is, he can feel the tense, impatient push of Cas's fingers, and it gives him a little bit of an idea.

The next time Cas's fingers nudge inwards, Dean runs the tip of his own finger against Cas's tight, stretched, slippery rim. Cas jolts forward with a sharp, small moan like he got electrocuted, pushing his cock harder into Dean's fist. And now Dean's not the only one dripping, the wet of Cas’s precome dribbling onto the head of his own cock. Fuck, okay, that’s… really hot, too.

The hand Cas has behind him moves aside after a brief tangle, and Cas breathes out, and out, hard. Suddenly, Dean’s fingertip settles against the soft wrinkle of Cas’s rim, but there's space for him. Carefully, watching Cas’s face, he lets his finger sink in, slowly. It’s tight—especially with Cas’s other finger already in there—but he remembers exactly how enthralling this was when Cas pants over him. It’s an easy glide, though: even though Dean’s finger was dry, Cas must’ve been generous with the lube earlier.

They find a rhythm together, and he gets lost in the slick pull of Cas's body, mesmerized by the heat and softness under his fingertips. But he blinks when Cas eases another of his fingers in, taking the total up to three.

"Wait," Dean interrupts, voice croaking. "Don't hurt yourself."

Cas stops moving briefly, looking down at him, before resuming the slow glide of his fingers in and out. Dean hurries to catch up. "I'm fine, Dean. I'm really—" Cas gasps a little, biting his bottom lip, "—fine."

Dean would fight him on that, but there's no pinched, achy crease between Cas's eyebrows—hell, no tension in his body other than the spread of his knees around Dean's hips, the way his thighs pull in on every backstroke. Around Dean's finger—both of their fingers, God, why didn’t Dean ever think of doing this before—his muscles are still tight, but it's... different than when he had to relax into it before.

"I think we use that term very differently," Dean murmurs, but he's already starting to get lost in the way it feels having _both_ of their fingers moving in a rhythm inside Cas's body.

He tugs and pulls just a little at the stretch of Cas’s rim, experimentally, and the give and slide of it is easy, smooth, and slippery, no snag at all: Cas's whole body rolls into it again, his voice coming out in a choked, quiet, "Dean, yes."

Dean's almost startled by the feel of Cas’s cock pushing into his palm: he almost forgot, for a second, that he still had a hand around both of them. When he sneaks a glance downwards... oh, yeah, nothing about the line of Cas's body says that he's having any pain at all. The head of his cock is flushed purple, and he’s dripping down onto Dean in a steady, silvery stream. He moves his fingers, and Dean watches, mesmerized, as a new bead wells up at his slit.

"I like it," Cas tells him, like he knows what Dean's thinking. Dean's eyes almost cross when Cas does... something inside himself, an intentional little squeeze around their mingled fingers. "I like the feel of this, all of this, with you, and I know that, now." His nose crinkles in a saucy, satisfied grin. "Please resign yourself to quite a lot of nakedness in the future."

Images—naked, sweaty and undulating—flash in front of Dean's eyes, which have crossed again. "Oh no," Dean drawls dryly, when he has some of his breath back. "Anything but that." He deliberately arches his finger outward and away from Cas's long fingers, putting a little more pressure into the stretch, and is rewarded with another one of those full-body shivers. Yeah, okay, Dean believes him, Cas is _definitely_ a fan of this.

Dean is definitely a fan of getting to the main event slightly faster than last time, and if the throbbing of their cocks in his hand have anything to say about it, Cas probably agrees with him. But that’s just this time: he's also planning an evening in the future where he spends as long as possible prepping Cas open, wringing tiny shivers and happy moans out of him until he's a squirming mess, just about ready to explode.

Above him, Cas shudders and gives him a heated look out of hooded eyes. Oh yeah, he definitely got the gist of what Dean was thinking. They're gonna have to talk about that later.

Yeah, Dean is also definitely a fan of all this. But he's still relieved when Cas slides out his fingers from inside himself, tucking into Dean's to take it with him, because he already had to stop stroking them for how close he was getting. When Cas pushes himself back higher on his knees, it pulls his cock out from the snug tunnel of Dean's hand. It also gives Dean a holy fucking hell of a view: his very own angel, kneeling naked over him, hard and wanting and licking those pink lips again in a way that Dean never wants to stop.

But when Cas offers him the bottle of lube, Dean arches both his eyebrows and grins at him, tucking his hands playfully behind his head and pretending to stretch. "Thought you were gonna take care of me?" he teases.

He's not sure if he's going to regret this or _love_ it when Cas's eyes go dark and hungry. "Oh... yes, very much so," he promises, in a low, dark burr of a voice, and the click of the lube bottle coming open all of a sudden sounds very, very loud.The sweet torture of Cas’s lube-slippery hand running up and down Dean's cock, getting him good and wet, ends with a little flick of his thumb right along the ridge where head joins the shaft. The sensation of it almost lifts Dean’s hips right off the bed when he goes to chase it.

Dean has to admit, he could probably get addicted just to the sight of Cas straddling him, strong hand cradling Dean's cock and guiding him into position. Fuck, just look at him; he’s almost as mouthwatering as the gentle pressure around Dean’s cockhead as Cas slots him carefully between his cheeks, making himself ready to sit down and go. But Dean puts a careful hand on Cas's hip, first, strumming the heavy line of the bone. Cas pauses, cocking his head inquisitively even with his sex-flush all over his face and chest.

"Hey, uh..." Dean flashes a sheepish grin up at him. "Do you, um, want me to put on a condom?" He's kind of remembering the expression on Cas's face after, the last time, and it took him a lot longer than it should have to realize what exactly caused it. Dean’s got no problems with the mess that good sex can make, but he’s also never exactly felt what Cas was feeling, either.

Cas pauses for just a second, his eyes going wider, and he throws back his head and outright guffaws. "Now I can't tell if I've corrupted you,” he gets out between peals of laughter, “or if you've corrupted me, because I honestly didn't even think about it!"

Dean laughs, too, bright and easy, and all over again he realizes how amazing it is to laugh like this while also being so turned on he might implode a tiny bit if his cock isn't tucked into someplace warm and wet soon.

Cas laughs with him but as his chuckles trail off, he shrugs. "I've come to terms with our lack of condom use. I _like_ feeling your skin." And while Dean’s still trying to process that without coming on the spot, Cas lines them back up, and Dean can feel his cock head pressing against slippery skin, catching against Cas's rim. It's already pretty damn fantastic, just rubbing there, but when Cas presses down and the head of Dean’s cock pops in, Dean can't believe he forgot how good this felt. 

There’s no room for him to take a pause; Cas doesn’t take one. Cas's thighs shake under Dean's hands as he slowly lowers himself in one long and careful stroke, all the way down. Oh, God, Dean didn’t expect that—Cas settles against the cradle of Dean's hips like he was always meant to be there and Dean's already out of breath from the feel and look of it. He forgot how completely overwhelming it was to be snugly tucked into Cas's body, hot and needy, waiting for more and wanting _everything._

"Fuck," he breathes. He wants to close his eyes to squeeze in some control; he wants to watch Cas and never stop looking, because Cas riding himself down on Dean's cock, thighs tense and legs spread so wide, is the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

Yeah, it feels freaking amazing—Cas is tight and hot, slippery with lube and prep, but not tense in a way that would make Dean worry. Fuck, he can see _everything_ in a way he couldn't when he was on top before: the way Cas's cock dips and jerks as Dean settles deeper inside him, the tension of his belly as he holds himself straight, the little quiver that shakes through Cas's shoulders and the way his head tips back on his shoulders like it's too heavy to hold up when Dean bottoms out.

(Dean's making a list of his favorite positions. On it, right now, are 'missionary' and 'Cas on top.')

"Mmm, yes," Cas sighs, still not opening his eyes. "Exactly that." He grinds down in a slow, deliberate circle. His cock beads silvery right at the tip with the motion, and he does it again. Dean's mouth cramps and waters; he knows he's not flexible enough to bend over and lick, but _damn_. "Hold on."

Dean has about two seconds to think 'To what?' before Cas starts riding him.

It's not like 'ride 'em cowboy,’ but it's still a wild ride, and shit, Dean only wishes he had something to hang onto; as it is, his sanity and his control almost go right out the window. The bed rocks under them with the force of it. Cas rolls his hips with a smooth, confident back-and-forth motion, hands pressing firmly against Dean's chest for stability he probably doesn't even need. Angel strength is a nice thing, and Dean knows that if Cas can just fully lift and move Dean without breaking a sweat then he probably doesn't need to press his fingers into Dean's sternum like that. Dean doesn’t know if Cas is using him for balance, or just plain holding him down so Cas can take what he wants.

Dean's not complaining, though: either way, it’s so damned hot, and the pressure of hands on his chest gives him something to concentrate on that’s not the fucking fantastic tight combination of glide and squeeze around his cock. He takes those hands in his own, threading their fingers together, enjoying the feeling of helping Cas rock downward as Cas’s hands tighten against his.

It _does_ feel different than when Dean was on top, and not just because he's eating Cas up with his eyes—the way he throws his head back with a low moan, the little circle of his hips that Cas throws in there every few strokes like he’s specifically out to make Dean lose his mind. There's just something about the way Cas has to tense his legs and hips to pull upwards and forwards that clenches him so unbelievably nicely around Dean. The fact that Cas is riding him like a porn star is one thing all on its own, but that additional little tease of tension around Dean’s cock every time he pulls upwards makes Dean's eyes want to roll back in his head. 

The rhythm Cas has set up on top of him is so fluid and so good, it's like they've been doing this forever. When Dean lifts up a hand and rests it on Cas’s flank, the feel of those muscles moving in a powerful roll underneath his fingers is making him want to grip and touch and just never let go.

Dean knows he should be doing something to help Cas along—something—but he's honestly too busy hanging on for dear life. 

Then Cas pauses. He _pauses_ , suspended a couple of inches above Dean with the head of Dean's cock still wedged inside him, and the jarring stop in the rhythm makes Dean's control a thing of the past. His hips jerk desperately upwards, filling Cas up where he's holding himself high. Dean really didn't intend to do that, but the sudden, delicious squeeze of it makes Dean moan.

"Ah!" Cas groans, loudly enough that for one horrifying second Dean's afraid he hurt him. But then Cas’s lips curve in a sly little smile. "Oh, I hoped you'd do that. Again, please."

"Y-yeah?" Dean stutters out, but his hips have settled back down on the bed. Cas has stopped moving, still holding himself those teasing bare inches over Dean with just the tip of Dean’s cock still inside him, but Dean's already hoping for more. Fuck, he needs more, Cas can’t stop now, can he?

"Mmm, yes. I like it when you do that..." Cas cracks open one eye and gives Dean a small, dimpled smile that can only be called 'filthy.’ He drops his eyes downwards in a way that looks very, very intentional."And this way, you can watch. I think _you_ like that."

(Yeah, Cas is definitely, one hundred percent, hearing at least some of Dean's thoughts. Dean's almost sure he's not going to survive him. Holy fuck. What a way to go, though.)

Never one to turn down an opportunity like this, Dean's legs bend a bit behind Cas, getting his feet flat on the bed for better leverage. "Okay," Dean says, unsteadily. "Happy to oblige."

"Yes," Cas says, smugly. "You do make such sacrifices for the—" Cas is cut off, his breath catching on a ‘Ah!’ when Dean decides to thrust that complacent look off his face. Dean doesn't really get to savor the smug feeling, though, because fuck, fuck, fuck it feels really good. Not to mention, Cas is right, he can _see_ the way his cock is disappearing into Cas’s body, Cas swallowing him up so easily, and holy shit that is… that is… really distracting in great ways.

Cas meets him in the middle for the next thrust, and they make a solid dull thud that is somehow, also, really fucking hot. Dean lets go of Cas's hand to get both hands onto those hips, fitting both of his thumbs right into those tempting little dips that seem made just for him. That it gives them both just a tiny bit more leverage, letting Dean yank and pull and hold Cas down as he grinds, is just a bonus.

He's not sure if he's pulling Cas down onto him when he thrusts up, or if Cas is just that good at catching their rhythm. After about a heartbeat, Dean's pretty sure he doesn't care. Cas is graceful even in the middle of _sex_ , which should be impossible. But watching him lean back to really start riding Dean's cock—one hand resting firmly back on Dean's bent knee now that Dean's got a hold of his hips, his bottom lip held tight under the pale flash of his teeth, whole body arched backwards to give Dean a hell of a view—Dean is pretty sure no one would have any idea that Cas hasn't done this position before.

No one ever will, either, because the only one who gets to see Castiel Novak like this is _Dean._ He gets to have this. He gets to have _Cas_. This isn't a dream. It's sweaty, it's messy, it's so fucking hot, and the bed is squeaking loudly in protest under them as they thrust against each other.

"Harder," Cas gasps, and his cock drips a thin, pale, tempting line onto Dean's belly, just underneath Dean’s belly button.

Yeah, no, Dean doesn't get dreams this good.

Cas is sweating down his neck and pink all the way down to his nipples, glowing in an entirely human way that's so fucking beautiful, even if Dean will never be able to articulate just how or why or how much. His dark head is tilted back, his neck a long delicate line only interrupted by the roll of his Adam’s apple as Cas swallows and gulps for air. He’s fucking devastating, and he looks like he’s having a very, very good time.

Hell, _yeah_.

Cas absolutely deserves whatever he needs to keep him making those tiny happy growls and biting his lip in pleasure; Dean's toes curl a little harder into the mattress, looking for just a tiny bit more push, shoving himself upwards in a way that makes his back twang. “Yes,” Cas groans. “Yes, like that.”

It’s not gentle, not like their first time, and neither of them’s trying for that. Cas doesn’t even look like he’d want that. “God, look at you,” Dean gasps. “Fuck, sweetheart. Should try this with the wards up.”

“Wh-what?” Cas manages, but he doesn’t stop.

“You like it a little fast and rough, huh?” Dean wouldn’t be saying this stuff if they weren’t—if this weren’t so good, if Cas weren’t taking him in a lot faster and rougher than Dean would ever have treated him, but fuck, Cas looks like he’s having the time of his life, his bottom lip red and swollen from how hard he’s been chewing on it, his eyes a thin dark rim of sapphire around dark pupils. “Maybe you’d like it if you could still feel the stretch of it the next morning.” _Dean_ could, after Cas fingered him, and it was… kind of amazing.

The way Cas drives himself down onto Dean’s cock at that makes Dean’s eyes roll back in his head, and there’s just no room for words for a little while. Briefly, before he loses his train of thought, Dean knows they’re definitely trying the wards thing sometime soon.

At a certain point, speed gives way to harder rather than faster, and they've slowed down. Now Dean and Cas can meet in the middle each time, delicious jolt after jolt, Dean’s back straining with it as he yanks Cas down towards him. Cas is leaking pretty much constantly, now, his cock bobbing with each thrust, and it's flushed and full and so tempting. But Dean needs both his hands to keep them moving just how Cas wants it. Hell, he needs both hands just to keep himself sane.

Dean's sweating everywhere, and—sort of inevitable—his foot slips slightly before one hard thrust, jarring him into a different angle. But Cas jerks on top of him, gasping out, sounding completely surprised: "Oh, yes! Yes. Right there. Don't stop!"

So Dean sets himself and does it again. And again. Until Cas is a gasping, arching mess, Dean’s belly so wet with him that if Cas weren’t still hard enough to poke a hole through the mattress, Dean wouldn’t be a hundred percent sure that he didn’t already come.

Cas is still bossy, though, and groaning so low it rattles Dean's ribs, so clearly delighted to be exactly where he is. The sight of him is so damned distracting that Dean almost forgets he's chasing his own pleasure, too, but the new angle is _just_ different enough that the way his own body is tightening up comes roaring to the forefront again.

"C'mon," Dean groans, because fuck if he's going to give it up this easy. But he hasn't got a free hand to work with, and last time, Cas took it upon himself to finish himself off. This time, though… shit, Dean’s getting desperate, here. "C'mon, sweetheart, d'you think—"

Then Cas grinds down against him and there's pretty much no thinking. But Cas has his eyes open again, looking into Dean's, and Dean thinks he might drown anyway in how much better that just made it. Cas looks almost surprised, or at least as surprised as someone pink all the way up to his ears and dripping sweat in a gleaming line down the side of his neck can look. 

"Y-yes, maybe..." he pants, like he's answering a question that Dean didn't even ask. "I think so."

Dean has no idea what that means, but he yanks him down onto his cock and Cas's whole body reacts into it.

So he does it again. And again.

"Yes!" Cas gasps. "Yes, I think I—" Another dull thud as they come together. "I'm going to—" His words are swallowed up in a gasp of pleasure, then a low, rolling litany that’s definitely _begging_. "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't stop—"

Dean couldn't stop if he wanted to, and he definitely doesn't want to. His stomach and abs are so tight they’re on the verge of cramping. There's a slow buildup of pressure just behind his balls, which are tight and aching but in the best of ways. Cas looks just plain lost, dissolving into a kind of desperation that Dean loves.

The flutters and squeezes start at Cas's _rim_ , rippling around Dean's cock, the sensation of it widening Dean's eyes because holy crap, he does not remember that happening before, like the best, most torturous massage that Dean's ever had. But it's only a few heartbeats before Cas starts to spill all over Dean's front, with a cry of Dean’s name that they probably heard over in Kansas.

Dean’s so startled at the first jet of come hitting his chest that he stops moving right where he is—which works out just fine, because Cas freezes when he comes, his ass pressing hard into the cradle of Dean’s hips. Or at least, he freezes for just a second, mouth open, his whole body one long taut line of pleasure. But the way he grips onto Dean _inside_ , those lovely little spasms around him, feels like a welcome, like a goddamned invitation, and Dean grinds up into it because he can't _not._

If Dean had any control left—

Well, but he doesn't.

He twists upwards into Cas again, whose body welcomes him with the best tight grip he's ever felt. Cas spills again, crying out again, more hot come painting Dean's stomach even as he rolls down onto Dean like his life depends on it. 

Dean's orgasm explodes through him in the middle of a third grinding roll and for a long moment, there’s nothing but heat and grip, the blue of Cas watching him, and the way his own breath is seizing in his throat as he empties himself into Cas again and again and again.

Cas collapses forward and onto him before Dean's all the way done, though; Dean gets one last shivery, desperate roll into him, but Cas is whispering in his ear. "Yes, Dean," he husks, low and delighted, "Don’t stop. Keep going. Fill me up." He shivers all over when Dean gives him one last thrust, panting with exhaustion and pleasure.

Well, if Cas is giving him the go-ahead, who is Dean to tell him no? He's still hard, and still sort of spilling out last little bursts of pleasure—they both are, Dean can feel Cas adding to the mess between them with every motion. So Dean keeps moving in little rolls even after he thinks they're both done. 

Or, at least, he's pretty sure he's done up until Cas heaves out a long, shivery sigh against Dean’s shoulder, and gives him one last good, firm squeeze, and all-but stroking another spasm out of him using nothing but his inner muscles. After that, Dean’s dizzy and happy and breathless, and _very_ sure he hasn’t got anything left to him.

Holy shit. Fuck. That was... that was... yeah. Wow.

Cas is still leaning over him, propped up on his arms, rather than flopped the rest of the way onto his chest, Dean realizes. He'd be a little insulted that he didn't make Cas go all boneless on top of him if it weren't for the fact that this position gives Dean a good look at the expression on his face: lips flushed and pouting, eyes half-open slits of blown blue, chin tilted downwards. In the little gap between their bodies, Cas hasn't gone soft yet—just like last time.

This time, when Dean summons up the strength to push into him just one last time, he watches between their bellies as the last thrust definitely milks one last thick, messy dribble out of Cas—oh fuck, fuck, that is really, really hot. And this time, Cas's arms _do_ give out, and he collapses heavily onto Dean with an inelegant grunt.

(Okay, so maybe Dean had just one tiny bit left to him.)

Score. Dean laughs a breathless, giddy laugh. Cas presses sloppy and uncoordinated kisses into his neck and shoulder. Dean's breathing heavily and his legs are sliding down, no longer having the energy or tension to stay bent and upright. The gentle thud of the backs of his knees hitting the bed jostles both of them just enough to wring out one more shiver of pleasure.

"Fuck," Dean eventually says, when his heart rate and breathing calm down a little.

"Yes," Cas rasps. "Very much." He doesn’t move from his heavy slump over Dean's chest. Dean is just fine with that.

Dean isn't sure how long they doze that way, or if maybe he's the only one dozing and Cas is doing some angel-watching. They're just silent, breathing each other's air. It's... Dean can't even call it comfortable. It's _contentment_. He feels his hand moving lazily up and down the broad span of Cas's back, and the tiny little motions of Cas adjusting both around and on top of him. Because it feels good, Dean's pretty sure, rather than because he has to. Cas can be so still when he wants to be.

Yeah, Dean's aware there's come all over him. He's okay with that. He is so, so okay with that. Dean hasn't slipped out of Cas’s body yet, even though he thinks he might in a second—they're still nestled so close and he's feeling so good.

Cas turns, after what might be a few minutes or might be a few forevers, and kisses the curve of Dean's jaw. "That... hasn't happened to me before," he says, low and throaty.

Dean's brain is still gooey and quiet with pleasure, so it takes him a moment to figure out what Cas means. When he does, eyes he didn’t even realize that he’d closed fly open, and the idea of it jolts him with another shiver. "Really?" he breathes.

"Mmhm." Cas nods, tucking his nose under the ridge of Dean's jaw, almost shy with it. "I… didn't know I could. Oh." He shivers against Dean again, eyes closing. He seems surprised at his own sensitivity, and Dean can feel him minutely adjusting against and around him again. 

That, if anything, crystallizes some things in Dean's head. Cas spent most of his life alone and afraid of his own dreams, unsure if the things he was imagining were really the things he wanted. Cas has mentioned what it was like before with others—how he was unable to even figure out what he liked and didn’t, not really, because he just plain felt like he was missing something. When Cas says he likes something and he knows it, now, he's not just saying it. It's not just the difference between inexperience and confidence.

Dean can't imagine having to wait over 30 years (or 3 billion) to learn about his own body like that. For all that this is new to Dean, it's not new in that way. 

(Also, now he’s got to wonder if coming untouched feels as hot as it sounds and looked from his point of view. Because, holy fuck, that was unbelievable, and Dean’s definitely going to want to do that to Cas again.)

"You're something else, you know that?" he marvels, closing his eyes and burying his nose into Cas's sweaty hair. "Damn."

"I was going to say exactly the same to you," Cas murmurs, then shivers on top of Dean when Dean finally does slip out of him. He ducks his head under Dean’s chin. "I should... ah."

"Probably," Dean agrees. He's got a pretty good idea that Cas is talking about climbing off him and the two of them getting cleaned up. There should still be that packet of wipes by the bedside.

Neither of them move.

After a moment, Dean chuckles. It's really his brain being so loose and warm and his whole body feeling good that let the words slip out. "So, uh... so when's it my turn?"

(He's kidding. He is. Right?)

"Nope," Cas answers, head finally lifting from Dean's shoulder. He looks pleased, and unbearably smug. "Still my turn. I've got nearly two decades of frustration to work out."

Something in Dean relaxes a little. He thinks he might actually want to, at some point, but he can only take so many heart-stopping events in a year. Them stopping the Apocalypse, Cas coming back to life _twice_ , and then watching him come untouched after riding Dean like a pony might be Dean's quota, for now.

Cas has that knowing look aimed at him, like he knows Dean almost bit off more than he could chew but he's not going to call him on it. Dean’s grateful, but it reminds him that all of those things he's been putting off for a better time are just waiting to clamor for attention.

Cas, like always, seems to know exactly what Dean needs. He doesn’t get up, though: he waves his hand and leaves a tingly clean feeling between them, and heck, Dean can’t even complain, because he’s not ready to not have Cas’s skin pressed against his yet. Cas shifts over, though, until their legs slot together and Cas is tucked carefully back into Dean's side. 

"So," Cas says, running a hand down Dean's chest before sliding it over to fit his fingers against the grooves of Dean’s ribs, pulling Dean just that much closer to him. "What's next?"

Dean stares at him for a long moment before smiling wide, still giddy from orgasm and the idea that he has the choice. That these _are_ better days, now. "I'm thinking," he says, settling further into the mattress, and grabbing with uncoordinated toes at the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, "the beach."

It takes a little work to get both of them covered without untangling them, but neither of them’s in the mood to be untangled, so they manage. Dean nestles his face into Cas's neck, inhaling the just slightly tingly scent of, well... Cas. Dean's pretty sure he's going to sleep for about a century. He's totally fine with that as long as he wakes up with the same guy next to him that he went to sleep with. Heck, Cas'll probably still be watching him with that just slightly soft look in his eyes a hundred years from now, if it comes to that.

(Dean promptly evicts all of that from his brain. They might've just stopped the Apocalypse, but there are still witches and vampires and whatever out there, and Dean's not ruling out the possibility of there being something like a Sleeping Beauty curse or some shit.)

He's just about drifting off when a hard banging on the bedroom door jolts him back into shocked awareness.

"BOY," Bobby snarls. "You better still be awake, 'cause _so help me..._ "

Yep, Dean's wide awake again, now. Cas meets his eyes from about an inch away, looking as bewildered as Dean feels.

"Shouldn't you answer him?" Cas whispers.

"Hey, how do you know he's not talking to you, you're family now, too!" Dean objects, just as quietly. Oh hell no, he is not answering. For one thing, they might not be smeared in come anymore, but they’re both still naked under the blanket. Dean doesn’t remember if they locked the door, but at least they’re both covered...

Before either of them have to make a decision, though, Bobby's grumble echoes through the room. "Now I ain't got nothin' against you bein' happy, but you only get _one_ of those. On account he was dead six hours ago,” Bobby growls. “But boy, I do not _EVER_ wanna hear you... you..."

Dean holds his breath.

"Loudly _canoodling_ again!" Bobby finishes, and stomps off down the hallway.

Which is a good thing, because both of them have to bury their faces into the pillows to hide the way they're shaking with laughter.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Tia:** I confess, we thought we were done for a while... and then on seeing everyone's comments anticipating some lovely reunion smut (completely reasonable, considering the rest of Profoundly Different) we both felt bizarrely guilty! And then we started writing again... and distinctly didn't feel guilty anymore. -grin- Hope you enjoyed! There will be more timestamps, and they won't ALL be smutty... I, uh... really...
> 
>  **Ami:** *pops in looking at their scene list* Oh yeah. They won't ALL be smutty. Probably.
> 
>  **Tia:** *SNORTS*
> 
> \---------  
> "Now, and ever shall be, world without end."  
> —Gloria Patri, colloquially known as the Glory Be.
> 
> 'Your lips are like a scarlet thread,'" he whispers, "'and your mouth is beautiful.'  
> —Song of Solomon 4:3, New American Standard  
> \----------  
> If you would like to fuss about Destiel with like-minded folk, please come join us in the [Profound Bond Discord Server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond)!


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